


But Not For Me

by StarshipCaptain



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autistic Julian Bashir, Doughtnut Banter, Episode: s06e13 Far Beyond the Stars, Loosely Based on the Episode, M/M, One Night Stands, Russian Elim Garak, Secret Relationship, Shady Motel Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipCaptain/pseuds/StarshipCaptain
Summary: The year is 1956.Julian Bashir's career is slowly slipping into failure and all he has is the familiar taste of a vodka martini (shaken, not stirred) and the knowledge that even if he does climb into a car with a strange man and drive to a rundown motel, he probably won't ever see him again.When was Julian ever so lucky?
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 27
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrrhic_victory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victory/gifts).



> this was most a most exciting project brought about by pyrrhic_victory and i getting into deep discussion about where the fuck garak was during the 50s episode of ds9. more chapters have been planned. if you have any problems with this fic its alex's fault :P im gonna be real, i want comments and ideas and all the enthusiasm for this fic so maybe i actually finish it. it feels like my baby at this point...

The lights were dim; not an issue necessarily, but it made the sound of the singer's smooth voice feel like it was sinking into his skin and the rising heat of the evening prompted him to pull at his collar. Julian was nervous. It wasn’t his first time at the club and it certainly wouldn’t be his last, but he missed the familiar weight of his trilby and the comforting warmth of his coat as he passed them to the attendant at the door. 

Vic Fontaine was on tonight. His eyes sparkled as he caught Julian’s with a wink and Julian was glad his flush was hidden by the darkness.  _ Get a grip, _ he thought to himself as he sidled up to the bar.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked. He was new, someone Julian had only seen one other time. 

“Vodka martini,” Julian said, already sliding a crisp dollar bill across the bar. He avoided eye contact.

The bartender snatched up the bill and gave Julian a cloying smile as he turned to cash it in. It didn’t matter to Julian if the bartender liked him, he probably offended him somehow anyway just by being there. The bartender looked young, maybe a student looking to earn a few extra bucks on the side and not particularly caring where that came from. Julian just wanted his drink.

The bar wasn’t exactly bustling today, it was a Thursday and still fairly early, but after the day Julian had, he needed his usual weekly drink a bit early. It wasn’t often his ideas were shot down, but at the moment nothing he was presenting to the publisher was good enough. ‘Too unrealistic’, or ‘too bland’, or ‘too radical’. It was all too much of something. He wasn’t in the zone and it was showing.

He barely acknowledged the bartender as he picked up his drink and scanned for somewhere to park his weary self. There were a few empty tables in the middle of the room, but Julian already felt exposed. Best he slot himself into one of the booths in the shadowed corners and pretend he didn’t exist.

The booth was mildly uncomfortable and the velvet upholstery was cheap. It scratched his skin unpleasantly as he brushed his hand against it. Vic’s voice still felt like it was trying to worm its way into the deepest crevices of his brain and Julian kind of hated it; as much as he loved to sit and listen to Vic sing, today just wasn’t one of those days. Everything was too loud, the occasional burst of laughter from a table across the room grated on his nerves and the wafts of smoke burned his eyes. He took out his own cigar, deciding he’d prefer his own smoke in his eyes if anything. He felt like the entire room was pressing slowly down on him at the same time as his soul vacating his corporeal form. He took a long sip of his martini.

“Is this seat taken?”

Julian jerked his head up. He’d been staring forlornly into his martini for the past god-knows-how-long, contemplating if it was even worth chasing his dream of being an author if none of his ideas were good enough to be published and, oh god, what was he going to do if he didn’t come up with something in time; he’d most certainly be fired and kicked out of his apartment and sent back to England with naught but his shame, a pitiful collection of well preserved American currency from ages gone by and tens of carefully cut out stamps.

“Uh,” he hesitated; he didn’t exactly want company, but the man standing before him was already moving to sit and his smile made Julian’s throat close up, so he relented with, “no, please feel free.”

It was normal for two men to have a drink in a bar together, Julian reminded himself. It was perfectly acceptable and there was no shame in it. He tried not to think about any of the potential implications of this man’s actions. He probably didn’t even know about the bar’s reputation; he sounded foreign. 

“So,” Julian began, not really knowing what to say to the stranger who sat across from him with piercing eyes and a smirk that told Julian he knew too much, “you don’t sound like you’re from around here.” It was a safe enough place to start.

“No,” the man acquiesced. “I recently came to this country to seek-” he hesitated and seemed to taste the air as if it would put the word he was looking for on his tongue- “opportunities.”

“I see,” Julian said politely, he wasn’t in the mood for this right now. “Where exactly is it you come from?” He suspected somewhere Slavic.

“My, aren’t you full of questions!” the man laughed. “Let me ask you one in return. What is your name?”

Julian took a sip of his martini. He waited a moment before answering, “Julian, and your own?”

“Call me Garak, Zhulian,” Garak offered. Julian didn’t feel like he learned anything about the man, but he definitely felt his heart rate pick up by a few beats when his name left Garak’s lips.

“Good evening to you, then, Mr Garak,” Julian said with a tip of his glass which Garak returned before throwing his own drink back. 

“Mmmm, as lovely as this singer is, I can’t say I agree with his band,” Garak commented. Right, normal conversation. Not just stealing glances at the older man when he thought he wasn’t looking.

“It’s not his usual group.” Julian wasn’t sure why he felt so defensive, perhaps it was the way Garak’s eyes seemed to see right through him despite the low light and the cloud of smoke floating around his head. He felt like he was naked.

“I see. This group isn’t doing him any favours,” Garak said, leaning back to watch as Vic gulped down half his glass of water before returning to the centre stage. “Now that I think about it, the singer isn’t especially talented either.”

Julian bristled. Vic Fontaine might not be up there with Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra, but he did a damn fine job in this run down little bar tucked away in the dark streets of New York. He said as much and felt his frown deepen when Garak moved to lean forward. He was enjoying this, the bastard.

“Anyway, you obviously saw this place on your way in,” Julian continued. “It’s not exactly high end.”

Garak seemed to agree reluctantly before he said, “If you’re so unsatisfied with the state of this bar, why don’t we see if we can’t find somewhere else more to your liking?”

Panic rose in Julian’s chest. He shot a look towards the bar where the young man was steadfastly ignoring his patrons in favour of watching Vic sing. He let out a steady breath. It was fine. Garak probably didn’t know what he was saying. It was all okay. Anyway, Julian wasn’t the kind of man to just go some place with someone he just met. Not at all. No matter how tempting the prospect was with a fuzz of alcohol in his brain and a small smile inviting him closer. He felt Garak’s knee knock against his under the table and jumped.

“Unless, you would not like to,” Garak offered quickly, shifting back again.

Julian genuinely couldn’t say what possessed him to say, “No! No, I would like to see what you have in mind.”

The way Garak reached over the table and gently patted the back of his hand made Julian feel like his skin was two sizes too small. His earlier nervousness had faded and was now replaced by excitement and fear. It was so, so risky to go ahead with anything like this, but the thrill was undeniable and if Julian was anything, he was a thrillseeker. His move alone across the world was a testament to that.

“Let’s go then, my dear.”

Julian wasn’t as drunk as he felt. He almost stumbled over his feet as they exited the building and he was eager to follow Garak over to a car parked up just outside. His entire body felt like it was on fire from a brief touch to the back of his hand as Garak opened the car door for him. He wasn’t new to this, but he didn’t want Garak to make any assumptions. Really, he wasn’t sure what he wanted Garak to think. All he knew was that he wanted the adrenaline rush of a one night stand with a stranger he was unlikely to see again in this massive city.

“Where are we going?” Julian asked after about ten minutes of driving. He was starting to get antsy. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Somewhere discreet,” Garak assured, reaching over to let his hand rest on Julian’s thigh.

“Okay,” Julian relented easily.

‘Somewhere discreet’ turned out to be a practically deserted motel some ways away from the bar. The only apparent living souls were a grumpy looking receptionist and the scurrying paws of rats in the ceiling. The receptionist didn’t pay them any more attention than was necessary, quickly turning back to his paper once Garak paid. 

The room itself was pitiful. A bed with yellowed sheets and barely enough room to fit two people, a battered radio on the nightstand which Garak turned on, letting the lilting voice of Ella Fitzgerald fill the tiny room. There were moisture stains on the ceiling and the smell of old cigarette smoke clung to every surface. Not the most romantic place Julian had seen by a long shot, but it would do for a quick fuck.

He had barely taken off his hat when Garak approached, slow and careful as he pushed his own worn coat off his shoulders. There was a question in his eyes as he reached for Julian’s coat that hid a million other things that Julian couldn’t quite grasp before they flitted away. He let Garak unfasten the buttons and slide the coat down his shoulders. He expected to hear the thump of his coat hitting the floor and was surprised when it didn’t come. Indeed, Garak had gathered his coat into his arms and was hanging it on one of the shitty wire hangers left in the cupboard. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Julian said with a laugh.

“Of course I do!” Garak retorted. “One must always care for one’s clothing.”

“If you say so,” Julian relented, moving around the front of Garak where he stood hanging his own coat. 

He hadn’t been in the mood for anything other than sulking earlier in the evening, but, he supposed, that was before the rather handsome figure had approached him. Now he felt impatient. He wanted to get started and finished before he had time to regret it.

“Have you no patience?” Garak asked with a laugh as Julian planted his hands on Garak’s chest.

“Can’t say I have, no,” Julian replied before finally yielding to his body’s desire to kiss the man in front of him.

Garak tasted of vodka, strong vodka, and something he could only describe as illegal sex in a rundown motel. There was a moment when Julian thought he had made a mistake before Garak returned the sentiment, pushing upwards with more force than Julian thought was necessary. God, it was hot in here. He had to take off his jacket before he burst into flames.

The movement of shucking his jacket and waistcoat was somewhat restricted by Garak’s firm hands gripping hard at his waist and ass, but he managed before bringing his hands to slide his hands along Garak’s shoulders as he kissed him. It felt oddly intimate, kissing Garak like this, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was just in a hurry to get Garak out of his own jacket.

“Take this off,” Julian whispered against Garak’s lips, tugging at the back of his jacket with greedy fingers.

“All in good time, Zhulian,” Garak replied. Nonetheless, he let his jacket fall to the floor unceremoniously and Julian barely gave him time to mourn the treatment of his clothes before he pulled his face back. 

“I’ll admit, I do enjoy the way you say my name,” Julian said between kisses. He could still hear Ella Fitzgerald in the background, barely audible through the crackling of the radio before her voice petered off into some Chet Baker.

“Zhulian,” Garak breathed into his mouth. Oh, that made Julian’s stomach clench and his thighs feel weak.

“Garak, move,” Julian said, trying to guide Garak backwards. “Bed.”

_ They’re writing songs of love, but not for me _

Garak was quick to pull Julian along as he stepped back and fell onto the bed without breaking the kiss. Julian felt like his clothes were made of pure wool at that moment as he looked down at Garak’s kiss-reddened lips and the icy blue of his eyes. With that thought in mind, he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt with frustratingly inadequate results until Garak took pity on him and unfastened them until he could push his hands across Julian’s torso and around to his back. Garak’s hands felt like ice on his burning skin.

_ A lucky star’s above, but not for me _

There was a sense of urgency in Julian’s movements as he threw his shirt towards the door and shuddered under Garak’s ministrations. He just wanted Garak to take his shirt off now so he could admire what was likely an equally attractive body to match his face. 

“Shirt?” Julian asked, already pulling the top few buttons open.

_ With love to lead the way _

The hands on Julian’s back moved lower as Garak caught his lip between his teeth and Julian moaned when he felt those hands sneak under his waistband to tease at the top of his ass. He wanted his trousers  _ off _ and he made that much known. He could feel his cock rising and brushing against Garak’s thigh through the fabric of his trousers and it was agony. Luckily, Garak seemed to get the idea as Julian kicked off his shoes carelessly, undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down his thighs as best as he could while Julian refused to stop his travel from Garak’s lips and across his jaw to his neck.

_ I’ve found more clouds of grey _

“Fuck me?” Julian whispered against Garak’s neck, giving it the barest bite before soothing it again with his tongue.

Something about Garak’s posture shifted, but he showed his agreement by rolling them over and pulling Julian along the bed so he wouldn’t fall off. The sheets stuck to Julian’s sweaty back and rumbled under him uncomfortably. He wasn’t given much time to think about it, though. Garak was sliding down the bed to kneel between Julian’s thighs where his legs draped off the bed, spread obscenely. His hands squeezed what little meat Julian managed to retain firmly as he turned to leave a trail of kisses up and up and up towards Julian’s crotch. 

_ Than any Russian play could guarantee _

There were sparks dancing all across Julian’s legs, making his toes twitch and his breathing quicken when Garak finally put his mouth to his underwear and gave his cock a kiss through the fabric. Julian gasped, flinging his hand over his mouth at a look from Garak as he worked to pull Julian’s underwear down. 

“Quiet,” Garak whispered. 

_ I was a fool to fall and get that way _

There was a distinct popping sound and a few seconds later, at the same time that Garak took the head of his dick into his mouth, the sensation of slippery fingers teasing down towards his asshole made him shake with excitement. It wasn’t long before Julian’s fingers were in Garak’s hair, messing it up and tugging as he desperately tried not to whine and beg. Garak’s fingers felt like magic. 

_ Heigh-ho! Alas! And also, lack-a-day! _

Little rolls of pleasure engulfed Julian as Garak worked as deep into him as his fingers could reach and it was only when Julian couldn’t hold in his babbling of, “I can’t anymore. Please, Garak. I can’t.” that Garak relented and finally pulled back. His hair was wild and his face slightly greasy from the vaseline, but Julian thought he’d never been as satisfied with a display as right now seeing Garak debauched and filthy between his legs. 

Garak gave his cock a gentle stroke, paying attention to that one spot just under Julian’s tip that made his face scrunch up and his thighs clench around Garak’s hips, as he fumbled a condom out of his pocket and shakily slipped it on. Garak’s face betrayed none of the nerves his quivering did, showing Julian only that he was enjoying himself immensely and Julian  _ really _ wanted to kiss him. 

_ Although I can't dismiss the mem'ry of her kiss _

“Come here,” Julian whispered, reaching for Garak’s face to pull him into a deep, deep kiss even as Garak’s cock pushed into him and he cried out. Garak swallowed up the noise and returned barely a grunt before he set to work making stars explode behind Julian’s eyelids. 

_ I guess she's not for me _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as requested, another chapter of 1950s au. this is all bantz and gay panic baybee!!

Julian’s head hurt like nothing else. He’d been up into the wee hours of the morning desperately scribbling down ideas and wracking his poor, fried brain for anything he could submit to the publisher. Anything at all. He hadn’t started on his main piece yet and he was fairly sure Kira was  _ done _ with hers!  _ Incredible Tales _ they might be, but this time they may have to be incredible without him.

The entire ride to work, Julian was agonising. He couldn’t do robots, that was Miles’ thing, and Kira already had aliens well in hand. There was no way Julian could do the whole dystopian future because Quark already wrote one of the best series in that genre that Julian had ever read. He was doomed.

The building the publishing house was situated in was tall, blending into the landscape, and entirely unremarkable. If Julian looked up he could see the filthy windows of the office two floors above him. Julian didn’t look up. He hadn’t since a few weeks after starting. He was too tired now for that and he would rather focus on dragging his bike up the steps into the building than gawk at a place he’s seen a thousand times.

Make that a thousand and one.

Julian stashed his bike in a little nook behind the stairs as he usually did and nodded to the weary employees of the ground floor before hauling himself up the stairs with more enthusiasm than he felt. Perhaps if he pretended he was fine, things would work out. That wasn’t usually how things worked, but Julian still liked to try.

He was red in the face by the time he pushed open the door to the shared office space and he was barely greeted with a glance from his colleagues. Kira was sitting at her desk, scribbling furiously at the page in front of her, her bouncy coiffure immaculately made up as always. 

“Julian!” That was Miles.

“How’s it?” Julian asked as he swung by Miles’ desk. Miles looked tired, and he was tired. He had two little ankle-biters at home and drank more coffee than anyone except Kira. How he managed to come into work every day and still have the energy to write was beyond Julian.

“Exhausted,” Miles replied, taking a sip from his coffee. It looked like he had added more cream than he usually did, but Julian didn’t mention it. Miles had given him a funny look last time Julian commented on something like that.

“Curtain climbers got you up late again?” Julian slid into his chair and stretched out his arms and back, sighing when the joints finally popped.

“God, always,” Miles said with a small laugh before he settled at his own desk.

Julian’s desk could only really be described as messy. His typewriter was half way through the sentence he’d left off on the other day, there were several notebooks stuffed with loose paper laying open and displaying their smudged writing inside, and, quite frankly, the pile of what Julian liked to call his ‘inspiration material’ was scary. Kira never failed to comment on how it always looked ready to fall over and drown someone in fantastical ideas. 

With a heavy sigh, Julian slumped back in his chair, hands over his eyes. The ‘inspiration material’ just made his eyes ache to think about looking at.

“Something got you down?” came Kira’s teasing voice from over the desk. Her station was backed right onto Julian’s and it didn’t help him feel any more productive to see Kira’s smug little smile as she smoothed down the pile of papers containing her story.

Julian resisted rolling his eyes as he said, “Apart from my career going down the drain? No, I’m just peachy.”

“Alright, no need to get so stropy,” Kira sniffed in response. She was joking, of course. Sometimes it didn’t feel like joking, though.

Julian just hummed as he patted his pocket looking for his packet of cigarettes.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling his jacket open.

“All good?” Kira asked.

“Left my fags at home,” Julian grumbled, letting his head drop to his desk with a resigned  _ thump _ when his digging left him bountiless. 

“Have one of mine,” Kira said, already flicking one over to him. He smiled as he caught it and lit it up, pulling in a much needed drag of nicotine.

“Thanks, Kira. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You wouldn’t be stinking up this office with those damned cigarettes of yours, that’s what,” Quark grumbled as he wafted through the smoke slowly rising from Julian’s cigarette to get to his desk. 

“Don’t be such a wet rag, Quark,” Julian huffed. Quark gave him a strange look as if to say ‘I have no idea what you’re really talking about, but I certainly won’t ask’.

“Anyone seen Sisko yet today?” Miles called from where he was hunched over his mug and a soggy looking sandwich.

There was a chorus of ‘no’s all around as everyone settled in. Sisko wasn’t late, but he was usually one of the first in, so it was a bit odd that he wasn’t here yet. Probably got held up by his mistress. Something like that.

“Odo?” Miles asked.

“Yeah, he just went to get some doughnuts from round the corner. The age old war of ‘are the doughnuts really fresh’ can begin again!” Kira said with a laugh.

Quark gave her a grimace from across the room before turning to shuffle through some papers. Almost every day since Julian had started working on  _ Incredible Tales _ there had been a fantastic row between Quark and Odo about whether the doughnuts that Odo got from the little cornershop down the road really were fresh. Quark insisted they weren’t, quoting his lifelong doughnut eating experience and the fact that Odo got a discount on them. Odo was adamant that they were freshly baked that morning and Quark was just making a fuss for the sake of it. It was never resolved, but everyone ate the doughnuts anyway. They tasted fine and there was no point letting a good box of doughnuts go to waste after all.

There was a rattle at the door and Julian looked up, even though no one else seemed to have noticed. That was probably Odo, all geared up and ready to argue to hell and back with Quark over doughnuts.

Except, it wasn’t Odo.

It was the editor-in-chief of the fashion magazine across the hall from them, a Mr Brunt; he was a short, balding man wearing a very finely tailored suit and a silk tie. His shiny shoes squeaked over the wooden sill when he poked his head in.

“Is Odo in?” he asked, sniffing haughtily when he spied Quark hunched over the coffee pot.

“No, why do you want to know?” Quark shot back with a frown.

“We have a new writer and I was showing him around the office,” Brunt retorted. He pronounced some of his words strangely, Julian thought. “Unless that’s not okay with you?”

Quark didn’t respond; his frown deepened before he turned back to his mug.

Brunt sniffed again and then stepped in the room to let this ‘new writer’ in beside him. 

Julian swore his heart stopped.

“Good morning, I will be working across the hall. It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Garak.”

Fuck.

Bollocks.

Fucking. Bollocks.

There was eye contact. It was hellish. A second that seemed to last an eternity where all that was left of the shambles of Julian’s life came crashing down around his ears and he could  _ feel _ his cheeks burn. The collar of his shirt suddenly seemed far too tight, but he couldn’t reach up and pull at it because his hands were glued to his typewriter. He thinks he may have seen in black and white for a moment there for all the good his senses were doing him.

Julian sat at his desk, mouth gaping like a sad, sad goldfish even as Garak broke the eye contact and set about very politely introducing himself to Julian’s coworkers. Miles looked immediately distrustful, barely deigning to shake his hand. Kira didn’t look any better. Worse, actually. She seemed to be restraining some kind of physical attack as Garak gently grasped her hand and instead she shook it violently before retreating across the room. It seemed a bit much, in Julian’s opinion.

Although, he supposed, he couldn’t complain. If he could he would be halfway across the country by now.

“Good morning,” Garak said cheerily. He was approaching Julian’s desk with measured steps.

In the sunlight Garak looked much the same as he did in the dim lights of the motel room. Kind of soft, but plain really. Until he brought out that  _ smile _ . Julian shot to his feet.

“Yes!” he blurted out, reaching out and grasping Garak’s outstretched hand. “Hello! Good morning, I mean. Yes, uh, it’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?” He was blabbering, he knew he was blabbering, but he couldn’t stop for love nor country. “Hello- Well, I already said that, didn’t I? How foolish of me. Good morning.”

Garak must have seen the way Julian’s entire body tensed when he opened his mouth to speak because he seemed to take pity on Julian. “Yes, it is a rather lovely day, Mr-” 

Oh. Right. They hadn’t met before today, apparently. That made sense. No one could ask about how they knew each other if they hadn’t met before. Of course.

“Uh, Bashir,” Julian stammered after a paralysing second of yet more eye contact. Garak’s eyes stared right into the depths of his soul and it almost hurt to feel so exposed. “Julian Bashir.”

“Mr Bashir,” Garak said with a small smile before he tried to release his hand from Julian’s vice like grip.

“Sorry, um...” Julian pulled his hands away quickly and watched as Garak let his hand fall to his side. Julian tried to be subtle as he wiped the sweat off his palms onto his slacks.

“Well, I must be going,” Garak said, giving everyone a quick nod and a smile before he left with Brunt. Julian thought the sight of Garak smiling at him like that might be branded into his vision forever because even when he blinked he could still see it vividly. It was a wide smile, somewhat predatory. It made Julian feel like he was going to be eaten alive.

There were a good few moments where Julian was aware that he was standing right where Garak had left him, hands still sweating, and staring at the door like it was going to come alive and try to batter him. By the time he had even a shred of self control, he was sitting down at his desk and steadfastly pretending that none of it had happened. What else was he supposed to do?

“This is simply unacceptable!” Kira cried, slamming her hands down on the table with a  _ thud _ that shook Julian out of his stupor. “I can’t believe they let someone like  _ him _ ,” and she spat that word like it was poison in her mouth, “in this building. In this country even! This is an outrage! And they even gave him a job!”

“Wait,” Julian butted in, his brain working as fast as it could to try and work out in any capacity what Kira was on about, “what do you mean?”

“What-” Kira seemed to be genuinely thrown off balance by this. “What do I mean? I  _ mean _ , why would they let a Red in here and give him a job of all things! What if he’s a  _ spy _ , Julian? What do we do then?”

“You’re right,” chimed in Miles. “They shouldn’t let his type just walk around like that.”

“‘His type’?” Julian echoed. He felt terribly lost now. It wasn’t like they knew about what Garak had done with Julian or anything (even though the thought that they might know made Julian feel rather like crying), so what on earth could they be on about?

“You know, a _ Russian _ ,” Miles all but hissed. He said it like it hurt.

Julian vaguely remembered that Kira had mentioned the Russians at some point. Obviously it had been more important than he’d thought at the time because he really couldn’t recall what Kira’s exact problem was, but he knew that  _ everyone _ had a problem with the Reds so it made sense. Miles too, apparently.

“I see,” Julian said, even though he didn’t really. Surely it was exciting to have a Russian in their midst! Like one of the spy novels that Julian was so fond of reading. If that was the case, then maybe Julian was Bond, a daring spy ready to take on the evil Reds and save the damsel. If all that was true then Kira was the damsel. Julian couldn’t see himself saving Kira from anything. The woman was formidable and he expected she could take out the entire USSR by herself. Best Julian didn’t try that.

“I’m going to complain,” Kira announced.

“Who to? He doesn’t even work for our publication,” Quark reminded her as he reclined in his chair.

Kira’s expression darkened as Quark realised his mistake just moments too late.

“I got the doughnuts,” came the voice of Quark’s saviour. Odo was back and he was clutching a bag of doughnuts in one hand, several newspapers tucked under the other arm. 

“Not a moment too soon,” Miles said, already getting up to snag a doughnut.

While Odo’s return with the doughnuts wasn’t exactly celebrated, the sour mood that had been building in the room did lift somewhat as Quark and Odo got back to their usual arguing. Things felt a bit more normal, for now at least.


End file.
